


All Tomorrow's Parties

by Luka



Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 11:05:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: Stephen's wardrobe malfunction gets Ryan hot under the collar!





	All Tomorrow's Parties

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a Primeval_Denial Secret Santa - the prompts were Stephen/Ryan with glimpses of flesh through torn or partial clothing. It's part of the Iceman universe, but stands outside of the main series. Thanks to Fredbassett for the loan of Lyle, Ditzy and Blade (some of her OCs). Claire is my OC.

"Bloody Norah," said Ryan. "Do you buggers never dress up for anything?"

"Not often," said Stephen, glancing over to where Cutter, Connor and Abby were talking animatedly. Cutter wore a rumpled stripy shirt and baggy chinos, Connor looked, as usual, like he'd raided his granddad's wardrobe, and Abby was the epitome of kick-arse tomboy fashion. She might be a little slip of a thing but Stephen winced at the memory of her standing on his foot once in her beetle-crusher boots.

"It's a bloody party. People could have made the effort."

"God, you're such a boring fart sometimes. Just because you're the only man in the universe to have razor-sharp creases ironed into your pyjamas."

"I don't wear pyjamas."

"Boxer shorts, then. I could do myself a nasty injury on them …"

"At least Claudia and Lester have made the effort."

"It's not a bloody fashion show! Mind you, Claudia looks like she's spent a month's wages on that dress. And I bet Lester didn't find that suit in Matalan."

"Unlike your teeshirt and jeans, mister! And you know there's a hole starting in the back of your jeans?"

"Ventilation," said Stephen, taking a sip of the mulled wine and grimacing as it threatened to remove the enamel from his teeth. "It's OK to undo the top button of your shirt if you're feeling daring …" Ryan was wearing a crisp blue cotton shirt that matched his eyes, and a pair of beige chinos.

"You've opened enough buttons for both of us …"

Stephen grinned and slid his hand into the front of his shirt.

"Oi! Cut that out!" Ryan suddenly looked rather flushed.

"Got an itch."

"I'll give you an itch somewhere later …"

"Promises, promises, soldier boy …"

"God, I wish Cutter'd get his act together and ask Claudia out. All the pussy-footing around's making my head hurt."

Stephen rolled his eyes. His partner was usually the most laidback of men, but periodically he'd get aerated about something and start ranting. It looked like the lack of sartorial elegance among the anomalies team was the trigger this time. Stephen had usually found the best way to shut him up was to suck his cock, but that wasn't an option at the moment.

"Why doesn't he just bloody snog her!" 

"What, like this?" Stephen grabbed his partner, yanked him under the mistletoe and kissed him. There was a surprised 'oomph' from Ryan, and cheers and wolf-whistles from the cheap seats. Stephen stood Ryan back upright, adjusted his shirt and bowed to the gathering.

*~*~*~

"What did you think you were playing at?" Ryan sounded faintly shell-shocked as he slammed the car door with a little too much force.

"Snogging you under the mistletoe."

"In front of everyone?"

"What's the problem? They know we're an item."

"Yeah, I know, but …"

"Nick and Claudia got the cheers and wolf-whistles as well when he finally plucked up courage to make his move."

"I know, but …"

"I embarrassed you in front of everyone?" Stephen stared ahead, eyes focussed on the road. One day he'd learn to think before he acted.

"I was just a bit surprised."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not. Now, how about a cup of tea, then I attend to that itch you were complaining about earlier?"

Stephen grinned and reversed the car immaculately onto the drive. "Best suggestion you've made all night!"

*~*~*~

The festive season usually passed Ryan by and he'd certainly never bothered with a tree before. Out of the 17 years he'd been in the army, he'd only been in his own home five or six times at Christmas. But this year, when his next-door neighbour Sadie had asked if he would run her over to the farm so she could buy a tree, as her car was off the road, he'd found himself strapping two trees to the top of the Land Rover. When he'd got it home, though, he'd suddenly felt embarrassed and had left it in the back garden. Stephen would think he'd gone mad, buying a bloody Christmas tree.

"It hasn't taken root yet."

"What?"

Stephen slipped his arms round Ryan's waist and rested his chin on his shoulder. "That tree's been out there for three days."

"I know …"

"In that case you must be waiting for the Christmas fairy to decorate it."

Ryan rolled his eyes and camped: "Go ahead, ducky!"

Stephen gave him the finger. "Baubles?"

"Same to you … And I haven't got any."

"Not what I'd heard, big boy!" Stephen dropped gracefully to his knees and began to tongue the bulge in Ryan's trackie bottoms. He then eased them down, laughing as the soldier's dick stood to attention. Ryan closed his eyes and gave himself up to that warm, talented mouth.

"Ground control to Captain Tom …"

Ryan opened one eye. Stephen was lounging against the worktop looking very smug.

"So where are they?"

"What?" Ryan opened his other eye.

"Christmas tree decorations."

"Haven't got any."

"That's not a lot of help."

Ryan shrugged. "Never needed them before."

"So why did you buy the tree?"

"Dunno. Beans and cheese on toast do you for lunch?" 

"Fine." 

And Ryan knew that Stephen, an expert himself, could spot a changing the topic of conversation move at 20 paces.

*~*~*~

Stephen lugged the bags in and dumped them at the bottom of the stairs. He glanced at his watch; it was just after 8pm. They'd been about to set out for the supermarket at 1pm when Ryan had got a call summoning him back to base. According to Ryan it must be serious, as the Major was swearing every other word instead of every half-dozen. Stephen tried to ignore the nagging fear that this might blow their Christmas together out of the water.

The late-night food shopping had been pretty painless once you reconciled yourself to most of Hereford's chavs and lonely singles blocking the aisles. On the way home Stephen had noticed that it was late-night shopping in the town centre. So he'd parked the car and gone for a wander. And it had been a very productive expedition.

The front door opened behind him and Ryan came in. By the pinched look around his eyes and mouth, Stephen could see it had been bad. It was at times like this that he cursed the necessary secrecy around Ryan's job. So he pulled him into a hug, feeling Ryan's arms go tight around his waist.

"OK?"

"Yeah." But Ryan sounded knackered.

"Go and change, then we'll see about something to eat."

Ryan nodded and kissed Stephen's forehead before disappearing upstairs.

Stephen unpacked the shopping, then looked in the freezer. One of Sadie's shepherd's pies topped with mustard mash sat there like a welcome beacon. Stephen took it out and rummaged around for frozen peas and carrots to go with it. He'd stocked up on ice cream, so they could have that for dessert.

"God, that's a welcome sight." Ryan was in the doorway, staring at the shepherd's pie.

"That's what I thought. Peas and carrots to go with it?"

"Fine." He took a mouthful of the mug of tea Stephen had handed him. "I needed that."

"Everything sorted?"

"More or less. Preston'll be there 'til midnight, though."

"That's what they pay him for."

"Maybe."

Stephen could tell this one went far above his security clearance, so he just shoved the pie in the microwave to defrost and set the vegetables cooking. Ryan sat at the table sipping his tea and staring into space.

He was no more talkative during the meal but Stephen was used to that. When they'd finished, Ryan put the kettle on and ran a bowl of washing up water. "I'll do it," he said shortly when Stephen started to object. So Stephen nodded and went through into the living room to sort out his purchases from earlier.

"Where did those come from?" Ryan was standing in the doorway with a mug of tea in each hand.

"I got them from that little toyshop by the post office." Stephen continued to unwrap all the ornaments he'd bought for the tree. They were tiny wooden hand-painted pieces with echoes of times long gone – drummer boys, soldiers, trains, snowmen … He'd bought them because they reminded him of the Christmases he'd dreamed about but had never had.

Ryan reached out and picked up one of the soldiers. It looked tiny and fragile in his large hand.

"I got some lights in the Woolies closing-down sale. But I drew the line at tinsel."

Ryan smiled. "Thank god for that."

"I was going to haul the tree in and decorate it. But if you'd rather not bother …"

"I'm stood down 'til the new year. Let's do it now. I'd … I'd like us to do it together."

And Stephen knew he was grinning like an idiot, as Ryan's tired face softened into a smile.

*~*~*~

Ryan rubbed his eyes and then took another mouthful of lukewarm tea. God, you could always guarantee that the shit would start flying come Christmas. He'd thought all the fall-out from a top-secret mission they'd been involved in in Iraq had been dealt with, but he'd been wrong. Preston and Colonel Jackson wouldn't be getting much peace and goodwill over the festive season. He felt faintly guilty that he'd been stood down. But at least he could spend time with Stephen over the holiday. At one point he'd been convinced he'd be stuck on the base filling in paperwork and being grilled by the colonel, who was a chronic worrier, until the next sodding Millennium.

Stephen's long fingers spread the tiny ornaments out on the table. He picked one up and carefully hung it on a low branch. Then he held one out to Ryan. "Your turn."

And it took Ryan back to his childhood as he attached the miniature drum to a branch and the faint smell of pine rose from the tree. His father had always taken him and his sister into the woods behind the house where they'd choose a tree. It was then decorated every Christmas Eve using pretty, delicate ornaments that his Gran had saved from her childhood.

"Looks a bit bare." Stephen was frowning at the tree. "I didn't buy anything for the top. I thought fairies were naff, and I didn't fancy the religious connotations of the star."

"It'll be fine with the lights on." Ryan opened the box and started to untangle them. They were tiny lanterns and were totally in keeping with the traditional feeling of the ornaments. 

Stephen reached up to arrange the lights on the tree and Ryan found himself transfixed by the rip in the back of his jeans. It ran parallel to his right buttock and was just at that point where thigh met arse. And it afforded Ryan a tantalising glimpse of smooth skin. He reached out and poked his finger through the tear.

"Oi, hands off!" But Stephen was smiling, slipping his arm round Ryan's waist and kissing the top of his head.

"Looks good."

"The tree or the hole you've just made?"

"Both!"

"Good answer, soldier boy! Come here …" 

And Ryan snuggled into Stephen's arms, feeling some of the tension start to drain from his body. God, it felt good after all these years to have someone to come home to and someone to hold him.

*~*~*~

"You're not going to wear those, are you?" Ryan watched disapprovingly as Stephen pulled on the ripped jeans.

"Yes. Why shouldn't I? They're clean."

"They've got a bloody great rip in them."

"And whose fault is that? We're going round to Ditzy's for drinks, not Buck House. Last time we went Lyle turned up in bloody shorts!"

"Yeah, but this is Christmas Eve and you're supposed to make an effort."

"I have – I've got my new shirt on." Stephen put his hands on his hips and posed, the soft fabric clinging to him in all the right places. 

Ryan pulled him towards him and nuzzled his throat and neck, burying his nose in the spot where skin and fabric met. 

"If you start something you can't finish, we'll be late." But Ryan noted how Stephen wriggled against him.

"Who says I can't finish it?"

"Save it for later. Right, grab those cans of beer. Do we need to take food or anything?"

"Nope. Claire'll have that all in hand."

*~*~*~

"Bloody hell, mate, nice of you to dress up," said Ryan, handing Ditzy the cans of beer and staring at the red and white football shirt.

"It's my new Kiddy shirt! Good, isn't it? I'm getting the away kit for my birthday. And what time are you back in the shop window?"

Claire appeared and kissed both Ryan and Stephen on the cheek. "Ignore him. Ditzy and his brother, with their usual original taste in presents, gave each other Kidderminster Harriers shirts. So now we know there are two sad gits supporting the team."

Ditzy mouthed 'ho ho' and followed them through into the living room which was already full of soldiers shouting at each other and telling unsuitable jokes. The girlfriends and wives were in the kitchen rolling their eyes a lot and swapping their own war stories.

"Trust you two to be the last," said Lyle, materialising out of the throng and handing them cans of beer. "Suppose you were having a last-minute shag."

"Fuck off," said Ryan, taking the can and downing half of it in one swallow. He disliked parties and wondered how early they could decently leave.

"Got dressed from the ragbag did you, Hart?" asked Lyle, poking his forefinger into the hole in Stephen's jeans.

"Don’t you bloody start!"

"Can anyone join in or is this private leching?" asked Ditzy, pinching Stephen's arse on the way to the kitchen for more beer.

"Be nice if you fuckers could keep your hands to yourselves," snapped Stephen, wriggling as Blade's large finger investigating the tear was accompanied by the sound of ripping. 

Ryan suppressed a grin and resisted the temptation to warn Stephen that the more he made a fuss, the more the lads would wind him up. He opened another can and settled back to enjoy the show.

"Pervy bloody fuckers," moaned Stephen as they walked home just after 2am. "Bloody straight boys and their wandering hands …"

"You should have kept your mouth shut and they'd have got bored after ten minutes," said Ryan, walking a step or two behind so he could enjoy the sight of Stephen's right buttock hanging out of his ripped jeans.

"And you can stop bloody staring as well. Or are you proposing to do it in the bushes?"

"Tempting, but I can hang on …"

"As the actress said to the bishop!"

"Never mind that, get the key ready …"

"Why? Hang on, let me do it … Hey, what the fuck …!"

Ryan bundled Stephen through into the living room, kicking the front door shut behind him. And then he was shoving Stephen's teeshirt up and ripping at his jeans and pushing him over the back of the sofa. 

"Hey, you going to let me take my jeans off?"

"No need!"

Ryan pushed the ripped fabric aside and spread Stephen with his thumbs. His cock followed into the tight channel which resisted, then eased to allow him access. Stephen reached back between his legs and fondled Ryan's balls. He left his hand there as the soldier began to thrust, and Ryan groaned at the sight of his prick sliding through Stephen's fingers and into his clinging hole. They were both close to the edge, and all it took was for Stephen to squeeze his balls and he came hard. Stephen clenched three or four times around him, then came himself.

Ryan withdrew and stood up, his legs wobbly. Stephen was still bent over the sofa, his legs equally unsteady by the look of it.

Ryan stroked his arse. "OK?"

"Ask me again in ten minutes. And incidentally, buster, you owe me a new pair of jeans!"

"Serves you right for having your arse hanging out of them. No, don't take them off. I've got more plans for you …"

*~*~*~

Stephen was awake first on Christmas morning. For the first time since he was a child he was genuinely excited about the day. Over Ryan's shoulder he could see that it was 6.45am. The alarm wasn't set, but he knew the soldier's in-built alarm would see him awake at 7am.

He rolled over and felt beneath the bed for the over-flowing stocking he'd hidden there the previous evening. As he was pulling it out, he felt fingers tracing down his back.

"Good morning." Stephen's voice was muffled against the side of the bed.

"What are you doing?" Then warm lips kissed from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine.

"Happy Christmas!" Stephen sat up and placed the stocking on the bed next to Ryan.

"What's that?"

"It's for you. Well, not the old rugby sock unless you really want to keep it …"

Ryan was staring at the stocking and Stephen said gently: "Open it."

Ryan began to unwrap the presents, carefully peeling back the sticky tape and folding the paper and putting it to one side. And his face broke into a smile at the array of small gifts Stephen had fitted into the stocking – the new Matthew Reilly novel, a CD, a fancy Swiss Army knife, a bar of chocolate, an orange, some aftershave …

"Your main present's coming later."

"This is great. Thanks. I haven't had a stocking since I was about eight!"

"I never …" Stephen stopped suddenly. Christ, Ryan didn’t need to hear his childhood sob stories again. So he hopped out of bed and said: "Stay there. I'll bring the breakfast up."

As he went into the living room he stopped in his tracks. Beneath the tree with its gently glistening lights were piles of presents that hadn't been there the night before. Stephen knelt down and checked the labels on them. 

"They're for you." Ryan was standing in the doorway.

"All of them? There are loads!"

Ryan nodded.

For a moment or two Stephen couldn't speak, unable to take in the simple, elegant tree and the fact that all those presents were for him. Eventually he took a deep breath and said: "Thank you. I was going to make us breakfast. Why don't you go back to bed?"

"Let's eat it down here. I'll put the fire on, then you can open the pressies."

"Hang on, let me get your main one …"

"In a minute. Breakfast first."

When Stephen returned with a tray piled high with bagels, cream cheese and smoked salmon, the fire was on and the room pleasantly warm.

"Hey, that looks good." Ryan took the tray from him and set it on the coffee table. "Shall I make some tea?"

"Nope. All sorted." Stephen went back to the kitchen and returned with glasses of bucks fizz.

"This is a treat," said Ryan quietly, leaning over to kiss Stephen.

"I wanted it to be special for us …"

"It is. Thank you."

Once they'd finished, Ryan cleared the plates away and Stephen rummaged in the cupboard under the stairs where he'd hidden an envelope in his walking boot. 

Ryan was stretched out comfortably on the sofa. "Go on, you go first …"

"No, open yours first …"

"Bloody hell, how did you get hold of these?" Ryan opened the envelope Stephen held out to him and pulled out two tickets for Ireland v England in the Six Nations at Croke Park. There was also confirmation of the plane tickets and a Dublin city centre hotel for a long weekend.

"Called in a favour. Well, an old uni mate who works at Trinity College in Dublin plays for one of the Irish clubs and he pulled a few strings for me."

"Brilliant!" Ryan grinned broadly. "I've always wanted to go to a match at Croke Park."

"You're lucky I didn't get tickets for the All-Ireland hurling final instead!"

"They're even harder to come by than the rugby tickets … God, you've played a blinder here, kiddo! Now, open yours …"

Stephen sat cross-legged by the tree and began to open the presents. As usual, Ryan had chosen well – there was a pair of trainers that fitted perfectly, half a dozen of his favourite teeshirts, a load of books, CDs and DVDs, a voucher for a hot air balloon trip and a tiny camcorder. The last parcel was flat and soft, and Stephen squished it with his fingers. And when he opened it, he burst out laughing – it was a pair of designer jeans, made of the softest cotton.

"Got to do my best to convert you from a scruff," said Ryan.

"That's a bit rich considering you wrecked my favourite pair!"

"I don't remember you complaining at the end result …"

Stephen kissed him. "I didn't. But you can keep your bloody mitts off these. And tell your bloody lads to do the same!"

Ryan returned the kiss. "Well, you'll have to dress a bit more decorously, then."

"You'll have me in a bloody chador at this rate!"

"Might be the only way to keep you to myself …"

Stephen stroked his hair and frowned slightly. "I don't want anyone else."

"Hey, I know you don't. You're mine, OK?"

Stephen's smile was devastating. "You bet!"

"Glad we've got that clear." Ryan leaned over and kissed him again. This time it was long and gentle and Stephen didn't want it to end.

"All this, here with you, it's, you know, just perfect …" said Stephen when they finally came up for air.

"Best Christmas I've ever had," Ryan said quietly. "Now, let's get the lunch underway." Suddenly he grinned cheekily: "There's lots of stuffing to be done …"

"Sometimes living with you feels like a Carry On film!"

"Ooh matron!" And Ryan kissed him again and pushed him firmly in the direction of the kitchen.


End file.
